


A Stark Contrast

by newyearsstreamers



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. References, Characters May Change, Dead May Parker (Spider-Man), F/M, Gen, Homeless Peter Parker, Hurt Peter Parker, Not Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Compliant, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Not Spider-Man: Far From Home Compliant, Not Spider-Man: Homecoming Compliant, Orphan Peter Parker, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker kills, S.H.I.E.L.D., Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2020-07-12 13:55:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19947265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newyearsstreamers/pseuds/newyearsstreamers
Summary: Over a year after the death of his aunt, Peter Parker lives in the streets, kicking ass and taking names.He's also accumulated a body count.When the Avengers learn that the previously (mostly) passive Spider-Man has started to leave behind bodies, it's safe to say they get a little curious.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> *tw: mention of rape (in two sentences, one towards the middle, and one towards the end)*
> 
> title comes from the name of one of the songs from the sm:h soundtrack. i thought it might fit well for this story.

_Fourteen, two months, and nineteen days._

Peter was bit by a radioactive spider on a school field trip.

_Fourteen, four months, and six days._

Peter’s uncle, Ben, died from a gunshot wound. Peter was there. He couldn’t save him. He watched one of his last two guardians die right in front of him. He watched as his uncle choked on his own blood until he eventually took his last breath.

Peter vowed to protect the citizens of New York the best he could.

_Fifteen, one month, and seven days._

Peter started breaking into labs. He started using his (literally) sticky fingers to steal. He managed to get better materials for his Spider-Man suit. He stole the materials from the labs he managed to break into.

He convinced his teachers to set up another field trip to Oscorp, and while they were there, he used his webbing to discreetly snatch things he might need.

Peter took internships. He would go to school and then immediately hurry over to the newest one. Peter only stayed long enough at each one to get what he needed without raising suspicion.

Peter started stealing food and clothes from stores like Wal-Mart or Target. He’d ask for fabric in the sizes he needed, and then he would go to the bathroom and flush the tags down the toilet so he didn’t set off the alarms at the doors. He would then do his best to conceal the fabrics in his clothes.

Peter had even been lucky enough that he was in town at the same time as some S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had been. He was even luckier that they were in a quinjet, and that he had been on patrol when he stumbled upon it. He went in, webbed up the few agents still inside, and stole anything he thought he needed.

This had all worked out so far.

_Sixteen, two months, and one day._

Peter’s suit had been upgraded so much in the past two years. His webbing could stop a moving train, if need be, and he had even managed to make his suit able to turn invisible due to the cloaking technology he had found on the S.H.I.E.L.D. quinjet.

Peter had managed to give his webs the power to electrify by studying and taking apart the tasers he stole. He just wanted to use them to subdue someone if need be. Keeping up with his whole spider theme, he decided to call them his “venom strike.” He’d have to change that if he ever did get poison, which, considering his whole no killing policy, probably wouldn’t happen.

Probably.

_Sixteen, two months, and three days._

Aunt May was dead. Hit by a car, the doctors told Peter. The car had been speeding, and it ran a red light at the same time as the pedestrian crossing light turned white. May had been killed on impact. Peter had been called in to confirm that the dead body was her, and he almost couldn’t even recognize her. The speed of the car had sent her flying over, and her skin had been ruined by the asphalt.

Peter almost threw up as soon as he saw her.

Peter was put into the foster system.

_Sixteen, four months, and twenty-seven days._

Peter hadn’t meant to do it.

It was an accident.

He just went a little too far, and he couldn’t stop himself in time.

He didn’t want to kill that man. He just got so angry, and he couldn’t control himself. He had released his venom strike before he even realized he had, and by the time he had realized that he was using his electric webs, it was too late.

Peter had killed a man. A man who, despite being in the process of attempting to rape a girl, Peter did not want to kill.

Peter couldn’t believe what he had done. He almost threw up, but he managed to hold it in. Well, he managed to hold it in until he climbed back into his room in the orphanage. As soon as he was in the privacy of his room, he ripped off his suit and ran to the bathroom.

He was surprised he still had a stomach by the time he was done throwing up.

When he was done, he sat on the bathroom floor, and he cried and cried and cried. His mind kept providing him with one single thought, and it played over and over and over in his head.

_How am I any better than him?_

_Sixteen, four months, and twenty-nine days._

Peter ran away.

He couldn’t stand to live in the cramped building anymore, and he felt like he no longer deserved anything his caretakers could provide him.

If he died in the streets, so be it. At least he would finally get what was coming to him.

_Sixteen, four months, and thirty days._

Missing posters for Peter had already been put up.

Peter tore down all the ones he found.

_Sixteen, five months, and zero days._

Peter got a fake I.D.

He got drunk for the first time in his life.

_Sixteen, five months, and nine days._

After twelve days, Peter stopped crying over his accidental murder.

_Sixteen, seven months, and sixteen days._

Peter accidentally killed another person. It was a woman this time. She had attacked him, and he couldn’t control his strength for a moment. 

They had been fighting on the roof of a hotel. He meant to push her over. He threw her over the side. He sprinted to the edge of the roof and shot a web to try to catch her. He caught her, but the sudden stop killed her.

Her neck broke.

 _Just like May,_ he thought.

He cried over it for a week—five days less than last time.

_Seventeen, eight months, and thirteen days._

His eighteenth birthday was only one hundred and ten days away.

Peter had killed eight bad people since the woman on the roof.

He had stopped crying over them after the third.

He had stopped feeling bad about it after the fifth.

_Seventeen, eight months, and twenty days._

Nine people.

Peter added a poison to his weapons list.

He renamed his electric webs to his “electric strike.”

_Seventeen, nine months, and fourteen days._

Ten people.

With every person he killed, he could swear it felt like he was dying too. He felt like he was losing more and more of himself, but he also knew he was only killing bad people. He was only killing the murderers, the rapists, the armed robbers—the lowest of the low. 

_They can’t do anymore harm,_ he told himself. _They can’t hurt anyone anymore._

The thought helped.


	2. Seventeen, Nine Months, and Sixteen Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter makes a new friend while also realizing he has more enemies than he thought.

Peter Parker had never been one for religions, but he still knew that he was going to Hell. He was going to spend his afterlife—if it was real—suffering in the fiery pits of doom.

He figured he deserved it.

Besides, if Hell was supposed to be where sinners got to suffer for their undead life, he had already gotten used to it. Being Spider-Man didn’t pay the bills, and he was living, or rather, trying to live, on New York rent.

He was still homeless. Well, technically he was living somewhere, but it was an abandoned building that had yet to be torn down. It was pretty disgusting when he found it, but it was still better than nothing.

He decided to call it his home, for now.

Peter didn’t really mind, though. He had run from the orphanage quite a while ago. They had even stopped putting up missing posters. He assumed they thought he was dead.

_I wish,_ he thought.

He had managed to survive so far by begging for money or food. If he couldn’t get anything by begging, then he would steal if he needed to.

Sometimes, though, people just looked at the small seventeen-year-old (the lack of sufficient nutrients had stunted his growth a little bit, and he was definitely way more skinny than he used to be) and gave him things because they pitied him. Peter oftentimes woke up to find a jacket on top of him with a couple dollar bills inside the pockets. Someone had even given him fifty dollars once.

He had spent some of it on a bottle of vodka, a water bottle, and some granola bars (with chocolate chips, obviously—he still wanted _something_ good). He pocketed the rest for later.

At the moment, he was sitting on a Central Park bench. He wasn’t doing much; he just wanted to watch the people, maybe stop a criminal or two if the situation arose.

He kinda hoped nothing bad happened. Peter didn’t want innocent people to get hurt. He didn’t want for innocent people to have their things taken viciously or for them to be attacked.

_Funny,_ Peter remarked to himself. _Don’t you steal from stores?_

He waved away the thought. It was okay, he had reasoned to himself multiple times prior: he never attacked anyone, and no one in the stores was ever aware of it. Plus, he had been stealing a little bit less. He tried to pay for as many things as he could, but he also always stashed away about half of the money he received through begging. It was going towards getting himself an apartment and then a suit once he turned eighteen.

“Hey, you okay there, bud?” A girl’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. He looked up at her. She looked about his age, and she had long, curly, brown hair. She looked almost as disheveled as he did in her slightly oversized black jacket, white T-shirt, and almost-pastel green pants.

“Yeah, I’m A-okay,” he responded. “No need to worry.”

“So then if I sit there, you won’t mind?” She gestured at the spot next to him on the bench where his backpack was. Peter shook his head and put it on the ground in front of him. “Coolio.”

The girl pulled out a small paper bag from her coat pocket. She reached into the bag, and Peter tensed for a minute until she pulled her hand back out and threw the bread crumbs onto the ground. Some birds flocked over to the crumbs, and the girl smiled a light smile. She then pulled out a small notepad out of her other pocket, as well as a pencil. He watched as she sketched the birds.

“So,” she said, not even looking up from her drawing. “What’s your story?”

Peter hadn’t really expected for anyone to ever ask that, surprisingly enough.

“Uh, I’ve kinda been on my own for the past year.”

At that, she did look up.

“No way.” She was shaking her head at him. “You’re at most, like, sixteen.”

“Seventeen,” he corrected. “And yes way.” He lifted up his dirty hoodie to show her the grossly skinny state of his torso. “See?”

“Damn, dude.” The girl looked back down at her drawing, and resumed sketching while she took a moment to think of what to say next. “What happened?”

Peter shrugged. “All my relatives died, and I couldn’t stand the foster system for very long.”

The girl scoffed. “That’s fair,” she said. “From what I hear, it sucks.”

Peter chuckled. “Yeah.” Peter frowned. “At least there, though, I might not be hungry right now.” Peter shrugged again. “Oh well.”

The girl looked at him again. “Dude, you’re weird.” She chuckled, put her pencil down, and stuck out her hand. “Michelle, but you can call me MJ,” she greeted.

“Peter.” He took her hand and shook it. “So, how old are you?”

MJ looked down at her drawing again and continued to work on it.

“Seventeen, same as you,” she answered.

Peter nodded, even though she couldn’t see it.

“And what’s your story?”

MJ sighed. It wasn’t a sigh like she was bored or irritated. It was more like she had… forgotten to breathe?

“I’m pretty normal, I guess. My parents are both still alive, so I live with them. Uh, I go to this fancy smart kid school, but it’s often pretty boring.” She paused for a minute. “Don’t really have any friends there, except for this one guy who’s pretty okay, I suppose.”

“Doesn’t sound nearly exciting enough for me,” Peter laughed.

“Oh, yeah, it’s definitely not like starving in the streets.” MJ looked at him and smiled. “High school’s definitely worse.”

“Yeah, sounds about right. Then again, I only went for, like, two years, so what do I know?”

MJ laughed. “Well, my third year ends in about a month.”

“Fun,” Peter remarked.

“Yep.” MJ continued drawing.

The two of them sat on the slightly splintered park bench for at least another forty-five minutes, sometimes talking, sometimes sitting in silence. Peter sometimes watched as MJ drew, the sketch now being made from memory as the birds were long gone by then. She was almost done, he noticed, and he felt a little disappointed. Not disappointed in the drawing or anything, but disappointed that she was going to leave, and she seemed interesting and was one of the only to talk to him like he was a normal person and not some little boy to be pitied.

He appreciated that way more than he realized.

“And,” she began, drawing the word out, “there we go!” She took the notepad off her lap and held it up to show Peter. He noticed her drawing style was a sort of mix between realism and cartoonism.

He liked it.

“That’s really good,” he smiled.

“Thanks.” She put it back in her lap again and started to write something on it. Peter frowned in confusion. MJ put her pencil back in her pocket and then ripped out the paper. “Take it.”

“Really?” 

A drawing was probably the most unique and weirdest thing someone had given him since he ran away.

“Yeah,” she told him. “Just a sec, though.” She reached into her pocket, pulled out her wallet, and got out a ten dollar bill. “Take this too. Buy yourself some damn McNuggets or something.”

Peter chuckled and accepted both things.

“Thanks, MJ.”

She smiled and nodded at him before standing up. She stuck out her hand and he took it.

“See you ‘round,” she promised.

“Maybe,” he replied. He hoped he would see her. MJ waved at him before walking away, and Peter watched her walk a couple feet before he looked back at her drawing, and he finally noticed what she had added at the last second.

_If you ever need any help, give me a call: 718-555-3749. Don’t call during school hours though, or I will fight you next time I see you. - MJ._

Peter laughed. He folded the paper and put it in his pants pocket, making a mental note to make sure he took it out when he got back to his hideout. He leaned over and grabbed his backpack, putting it over his shoulders, and he started walking home.

On his way, he passed by a McDonald’s and decided _what the hell?_ He bought himself a twenty piece McNugget with the money MJ gave him. Peter decided that, since it felt much nicer in the restaurant than outside, that he was going to sit down and eat his nuggets while they were still nice and hot.

Peter was just oh-so-lucky that someone had decided to try to rob the restaurant with a gun before he had even gotten halfway through his nuggets.

_Typical,_ he thought.

A majority of the customers immediately swarmed to the exits, while some simply ducked down under the tables and continued to eat their meals in awe and shock. Peter, in the commotion, ran to the bathroom and took his Spider-Man suit out from his backpack.

“Why did it have to be this McDonald’s?” he muttered to himself.

Once he had changed and left his civilian clothes and backpack in the stall, he hurried out of the bathroom.

“Hey man!” he said to the robber. “If you want their money so bad, why don’t you get a job? I mean, I know it’s only minimum wage but…”

Peter shot a web into the robber’s face, and while the man struggled to remove it, he shot another web at the gun and pulled it out of the man’s hand. He then walked up to the man and stared at him in slight disgust.

Peter punched the man in the face and then webbed his hands together.

“Call the cops,” he told the wide-eyed and terrified employee. The employee nodded and went towards the back.

Peter punched the man again.

And again.

And again.

The employee returned. “The police are coming,” he told Spider-Man.

“Good.”

Peter put the (now unconscious) robber in a web cocoon and hung it from the ceiling. He then went to the bathroom, grabbed his things, then came back out and got his chicken nuggets.

“See ya,” he said, saluting the employee. Once he had walked out the doors, he sighed and put his (now cold) nuggets in his book bag and swung away. He swung for about half the distance between the restaurant and his home. At what he thought was the midpoint, he landed and looked for a store to change in. There was an electronics store at the corner a couple hundred feet in front of him.

_Perfect,_ he thought.

He ran in, changed, and was just about to leave before the TV screens caught his eyes.

Peter—well, Spider-Man—was on every single one of them.

Apparently, someone at the McDonald’s had recorded him and sent it to a news station named _The Daily Bugle._ Peter was surprised that the news anchor had already made it into a story. A small group of people gathered around the TVs and they watched with Peter as Spider-Man beat up the robber. The video ended with Spider-Man stringing up the man and then leaving with his food.

“You see, folks, this is why I say Spider-Man is not the hero everyone seems to think he is. Yes, yes, I will agree that sure, the webbing of the man’s face was a decent thing to do. He had to get the gun away so no one got hurt.”

_Right,_ Peter thought.

“But, there was no reason for Spider-Man to punch him, not once, but four times! He knocked the man unconscious! Next thing we know, we’re going to hear about how Spider-Man, the oh-so-great masked ‘hero’ has _killed_ somebody!”

Peter chuckled darkly. _Too late._

“This, my dear watchers, is why we do not need the Spider-Menace!”

_Spider-Menace? Really?_ It was a dumb name.

“And, right here with me in the studio today, we have none other than Secretary Ross to speak about where this ‘hero’ falls under the Sokovia Accords!” The camera and the anchor turned to reveal a man sitting at the table with the anchor. “Good evening and welcome to _The Daily Bugle_ , Mr. Secretary.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jameson,” the other man greeted. He was an old man with gray and brown hair. Ross wore a navy blue suit and black tie with a white shirt underneath. The man looked vaguely familiar, though Peter was sure he had never seen him before.

Right?

“So, Mr. Secretary, where, in your _expert_ opinion, does the masked man fall under the Accords?”

“Well, from videos that people all over New York have taken, he clearly has superhuman abilities. Spider-Man has been stopping speeding cars and walking on walls. Last I checked, your average person can’t do that.”

Jameson laughed. “I sure can’t.” Jameson sobered. “So, doesn’t that mean that Spider-Man should be documented? Shouldn’t he have to sign?”

“Yes, that’s correct. If Spider-Man is indeed an enhanced individual, like we believe, then his signature is required on the Accords.”

“So, then he’s working illegally?” Jameson leaned towards the Secretary eagerly.

“Yes. Spider-Man is working illegally due to the vigilante aspect of what he does, especially if he is an enhanced individual; it’s safe to say that he is."

Jameson near exploded in his seat.

“You heard it here first folks! Not only is the Spider-Menace working illegally by taking the law into his own hands and not letting our great police force handle it, but he’s _also_ violating the Accords by doing so! If this so-called ‘hero’ really wanted to help clean up the streets of New York, he’d turn himself in and reveal his identity to us! He would put his name on the Accords, and he’d let the United Nations decide what to do with him!”

Peter rolled his eyes.

Like that would ever happen.

On the TVs, Jameson turned back to Ross and shook his hand.

“Thank you for coming on the show, Mr. Secretary.”

“Thank you for having me, Mr. Jameson.”

Jameson and the camera both turned back to the original position they were in.

“There you have it folks: Spider-Man is _not_ the hero you think he is.” He smiled a tight-lipped smile and nodded at the camera. “Goodnight, everyone, and thank you for watching.”

The TVs all switched to a commercial at the same time. Peter listened as people muttered to themselves or to the people they were with.

_That’s what I’ve been saying all along._

_I don’t believe it. Spider-Man’s a hero!_

_Come on, Maurice, didn’t you hear him? He’s even more illegal than we thought._

_Who cares if he’s acting illegally? He’s at least doing it in a way to help others._

_Spider-Man needs to be arrested._

Peter sort of agreed with that last one. After all, he was actually working outside the law, and he had also killed people.

Sure, they were bad people, but they were people nonetheless.

Peter sighed.

Peter went home.

Peter went to sleep.

He forgot to take MJ’s picture out of his pocket.

Oops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i looked up the accords on the mcu wikia, and this is kinda how i interpreted how they worked since they never fully went over them in the movies. if there's anything wrong about it, let me know! :)
> 
> also y'all i'm so surprised at how quickly i wrote all this. i wrote like 2.5k words in less than 24 hours when usually it takes me like a whole week to write like 500??
> 
> growth


	3. Seventeen, Nine Months, and Eighteen Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter gets shot at a robbery gone wrong and consults MJ for help.

MJ had no idea if the mystery boy would ever call her. She had no idea if she would ever see him again.

To be quite honest, MJ wasn’t even sure if she _wanted_ to hear from or see him again. On one hand, she did because she wanted to help him because he was so skinny and so interesting. On the other hand, he was a complete and utter stranger. Who knew if his name was Peter? Who knew if he was really seventeen like he said? Who knew what he had done? He could have made up his entire story, and she would have been none the wiser.

He could have killed someone.

MJ scoffed at herself.

_The dude’s tiny,_ she thought. _He couldn’t win in a fight against a gnat._

And by the look of his chest when he showed her how skinny he was, he was definitely losing against the tiny bugs. His chest and stomach were littered with scars and cuts, some of them looking very recent, some of them looking just a tad bit older. He was also sporting some ugly yellow, purple, blue, and brown spots.

She didn’t know which story would be worse: the story he gave in which he said he was homeless, or the story in which he was being abused.

She hadn’t overlooked the state of his hands either; his fingernails had been bitten down as far as possible, and his cuticles were red as if he had picked at hangnails. They didn’t reveal which story would have more plausibility.

If MJ was being honest with herself, his hands revealed nothing about his status. She bit her own fingernails sometimes when she was nervous or upset.

MJ also realized, a little bit late, that if Peter were in either of those situations, he likely didn’t have a phone he could use any time he wanted to. He could, she supposed, use a payphone, but who knew if he had enough money or even the right coins? She sure didn’t.

She didn’t know him well enough to know that his favorite color was the color of the clouds when it rained.

She didn’t know him well enough to know that he had a not-so-slight drinking problem.

She didn’t know him well enough to know that he used to play in the band of the same school that she currently attended.

She didn’t know him well enough to know that he was Spider-Man.

She didn’t really know anything about him.

She didn’t really know anything about him, so she hadn’t really expected him to call.

And yet, he did. 

Well, maybe it wasn’t him, but she couldn’t really think of anyone else who would call her and have it show up saying “PAYPHONE” on the caller I.D. She had been watching the news when he called. The story the anchor was currently describing was an armed robbery in Brooklyn that had been stopped by Spider-Man approximately thirty minutes prior. The anchor looked away from the camera and at the people in the studio before nodding and announcing that they had a video from a witness.

“Hello?” She answered the phone but kept her eyes glued to the TV.

_”Viewer discretion advised: the video is graphic.”_

“Hey, um, MJ? I need help.” MJ heard him cough a couple times.

She watched as Spider-Man and the three armed robbers attacked each other. The hero was quick to get the weapons out of the thieves’ hands.

“You okay?”

One of the robbers pulled out another gun.

He aimed.

He fired.

He didn’t miss.

“Uh, I guess the jury’s out on that one.” Another cough.

Spider-Man fell over, clutching his side, before shooting a web at the man and using it to pull the gun out of his hand. He then stood back up, still holding his wound, and sprinted to the man and promptly punched him in the face.

_”That hurt, asshole.”_ Spider-Man groaned at the man. _”Next time, you should use some softer bullets, please and thank you!”_

“What do you mean?” MJ’s usually cool and nonchalant tone was becoming tinged with worry, and she was low-key cursing herself in her head.

Spider-Man webbed up all three robbers, put them in a sort of pouch made of his webs, and hung them from the ceiling for the police to take care of.

“Do you know, um…Enough first aid to help someone who’s quite badly injured?”

Spider-Man’s suit was a much darker color on the side where he had been shot.

“Peter? What the hell happened?” Her voice was low.

“Uh,” he started. It took him almost a full thirty seconds before he answered. “I… Got shot?”

“Jesus Christ, Peter,” MJ breathed.

“Can you help me?” Peter asked. His voice had a hint of agitation, but it was also slightly hopeful.

He mostly sounded tired.

“Yeah, I can,” she told him.

She rambled out her address to him, and he hung up after a quick “Thanks.”

MJ sighed.

_What did I get myself into with this boy?_

Peter hadn’t really wanted there to be any crime that day. He’d just wanted _one_ day to chill without having to stop a single perpetrator. Was that too much to ask?

An hour before he called MJ, he had been sitting on the same Central Park bench where he had met her two days prior. This time, he’d brought his own mini paper bag of bread crumbs and was feeding the birds. Peter felt calmer than he had in a long time, and it was both incredibly refreshing and slightly worrying. He liked the calm because he finally felt like everything in his life wasn’t going so fast, but he disliked it because it would end as all things do.

He didn’t want this moment to end. He knew it would.

He hated how inconvenient life could be sometimes.

For now, though, he continued to watch the beautiful gray and blue pigeons pecking at the ground in search of the crumbs he scattered over the sidewalk and grass in front of him. He still had about half the bag left, so he took a handful for himself. The crumbs were stale.

 _Gross._ Deciding that he was full enough for now, Peter poured the rest of the bread onto the ground. Birds continued to flock to it, and he wondered how they could stand it.

 _“Ten-twenty, we have an armed robbery in progress at the Whole Foods at 238 Bedford Avenue. Any available units please respond.”_ Peter sighed when the police scanner went off. 

So much for having a free day.

Peter stood up and jogged to one of the public bathrooms nearby to change into his Spider-Man suit. He almost laughed when a man had given him a bewildered expression upon seeing _the_ Spider-Man. He sort of wished he’d been able to take a picture of it. 

Oh well.

He strung his book bag over his back and swung up to head to Brooklyn.

By the time he arrived, the robbery seemed to be mostly complete. The thieves had bags filled with money in them, and they appeared to be getting ready to leave. Peter had to be quick.

“Hey guys! Didn’t you get the memo? Stealing is illegal. I guess you guys were just another set of kids who never learned anything from the American public schooling system, huh?” The men looked up at Peter, all three of them immediately raising their guns to point them at him. “I’ll take those, thank you very much!” Peter used his webs to reach over and rip their weapons out of their hands.

Satisfied that they had no more weapons, Peter used his webs to slingshot himself towards the ground in front of the men. He simultaneously shot webs at two of the men, effectively disabling them for the time being, but before he could do so to the third man, he had pulled out a gun and shot Peter.

Peter had been shot before.

It never hurt any less than the previous times.

Peter fell over, almost blinded by the white hot pain that ripped through his side. He let out a yelp, and he might have been embarrassed if he didn’t have a mission to complete. From the ground, he shot out a web at the man, and pulled his gun out of his hand yet again. Peter then, slowly, managed his way back to his feet, groaning and holding his right side the entire time. He ran over to the bastard that shot him and gave him a right hook to the face.

“That hurt, asshole,” Peter spat at him. “Next time, you should use softer bullets, please and thank you!”

He used his webs to pull the other two men to the third, and he put them all together in one large web hammock and strung them to the ceiling.

Once he was sure he was done, he began his walk home. He knew he needed someone to help him with his wound, and his new friend would, hopefully, be better than a hospital. If he went to a hospital, there would be evidence of who he was. They’d take blood samples, and they’d make him take off his mask. MJ might ask him to take off his mask or his suit, but she couldn’t take blood samples.

He just hoped that she knew any kind of first aid. If she didn’t, he supposed he would figure out what to do then.

And so, he walked and swung home in order to find the note she gave him. He’d never let go of his side throughout the entire trip. He didn’t know very much about wounds, but he had heard that you should apply pressure, so he was going to do that for as long as he could.

Peter didn’t remember that he’d never put it down until he’d already wasted so much of his time and had arrived at the abandoned building he lived in. He cursed himself for forgetting, especially since he considered his memory to be one of the few things he had going for him. A little bit of him hoped that it was the blood loss affecting his memory, but another part of him knew that that was worse than if his memory had just declined slightly.

He pulled out the note, removed his mask, and put a large jacket and pair of sweatpants over his suit. He’d forgotten to take off the suit. _Stupid,_ he’d call himself later.

Peter ran as fast as he could to the nearest payphone he could find, and he called MJ. She was, understandably, taken aback by the requests he’d made, but she did give him her address and the agreement to help. He sighed contently. The address she’d given him was just down the street from where he’d lived with his aunt and uncle, so he knew exactly where he needed to go, and he wasn’t even that far from it.

Peter spun around in the phone booth, and he almost fell over due to the dizziness that ensued. _That can’t be good,_ he thought.

Once he recovered from the lightheadedness, he started running again, and he didn’t stop until he arrived. He found her waiting on her doorstep.

“You said you got shot,” she explained. “I figured you might want a little bit of help with walking.”

Peter smiled slightly. “Yeah, thanks.”

MJ nodded in response before leading him inside and up into her bathroom.

“My parents are at work for the next six hours, so we shouldn’t get caught,” she told him. Peter giggled. She furrowed her eyebrows at him. “What?” 

“That sounds like something someone in a couple would say to their significant other while trying to, like, secretly have sex or something.” MJ glared. “Not that I think that’s going to happen!”

“It sure as hell isn’t,” she said, helping him to sit on the edge of the bathtub. “I’m a lesbian, and I have a girlfriend.”

“Oh, awesome,” he responded. His words were slightly slurred, and his skin was even paler than when he had arrived at her apartment building.

“Yep.” She leaned him back into the tub. “I’m going to get the first aid kit, alright?”

“Yes ma’am.” He closed his eyes.

MJ cursed and then quickly stood up and bolted to the kitchen. She opened the cabinet, pulled out the first aid kit, and ran right back to the bathroom.

“I’m back,” she said.

Peter didn’t respond.

“Shit shit shit shit shit _shit!_ ” MJ opened the box and pulled out the needle and thread that was in it, and then put the thread through the needle, even though it took her a few tries. Once she got it though, she swiftly removed his jacket.

“What?” she breathed out.

She was well aware that she knew nothing about this boy bleeding in her bathtub, but if someone came up to her saying that he was Spider-Man, she could have told them to piss off.

And yet here he was.

_Focus, MJ! Peter maybe being Spider-Man is for another time, but there won’t be another time if you don’t do this!_

“Right, right,” she muttered. “Gotta help him, or you’ll never know if he is Spider-Man.”

She moved the ripped part of the suit away from the wound and nearly threw up at the sight of it. MJ sewed away through the nausea.

 _I guess this how he got all those scars,_ MJ realized.

“Goddamn, Peter,” she remarked as she finished. She tied the end of the thread and used a pair of scissors to cut it. MJ looked at her handiwork and felt just a tad bit proud of it. She then grabbed Peter’s jacket and used it to cover the exposed top half of his suit.

MJ then stood up, washed her hands in the bathroom sink, returned the first aid kit to its spot in the kitchen, and got a glass of orange juice, some slices of bread, and some lettuce out for Peter for when he woke up.

She went to the living room to watch _Parks and Recreation_ and wondered how she had managed to get involved with _Spider-Man_ of all people.

Of course something this complicated would happen to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl, i don't feel very good about the ending of this, because i wanted to add more, but everything i wanted to add is planned for the next chapter. so enjoy this half-decent chapter with a subpar ending!!
> 
> also sorry for the almost month long wait lmao. i couldn't think of what to do for this chapter for the first half of the time i wanted to write, and then by the time that i had ideas, i had band camp to eat up all my time.
> 
> also i know nothing about both new york geography, gunshot wounds, or the police, so if there's anything i should correct or be aware of, please let me know! :)


	4. Seventeen, Nine Months, and Eighteen Days (PART 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter meets some new people and gets into a sticky situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been five months. i am so sorry.

If MJ had remembered that her friend was supposed to come over to work on a project, then she might have told Peter— _Spider-Man_ —to go to the hospital and get better help. She also might have told her friend that she had to reschedule for tomorrow.

_Speaking of hospitals,_ she thought, _why hadn’t Peter just gone to the hospital?_ MJ figured it might have something to do with the fact that he’s apparently Spider-Man. She shrugged. _I guess I’ll ask him when he wakes up,_ she told herself.

After exactly an hour, thirty-seven minutes, and twenty-eight seconds, Peter woke up. It took him a moment to remember exactly where he was and what had happened, but as soon as he did, he jumped up in the tub. His jacket—which had been thrown on him haphazardly, he noticed—fell to the ground, and he grimaced. 

“Shit,” he whispered. “Shit, shit, shit, shit!” How could he be so stupid? Peter looked down at his attire and almost— _almost_ —laughed at how dumb he looked. His oversized, dark gray sweatpants joined well with the ripped and bloody Spider-Man suit to pull the outfit together. He also _just_ noticed that he wasn’t wearing shoes, leaving the suit exposed at the feet. Peter facepalmed himself.

He carefully stepped out of the tub, and he looked around the bathroom. There were discarded pieces of thread on the counter top, but he didn’t find the thing he was looking for. Peter sighed and grabbed his jacket before putting it back on and zipping it up. He was about to step out into the hall when he heard someone knocking at the door. 

“Oh, fuck,” he heard MJ say. The door opened. “Hey, Ned.”

“Hey! My mom made some kutsinta for us to eat while we work on the project.” Ned walked into her apartment, and placed the dish on the kitchen counter.

“Oh, yeah,” MJ muttered. She scratched her hair anxiously. _I can’t tell him not to go into the bathroom; then he’ll want to go see why, but he can’t go in the bathroom._

“Did you forget?” Ned chuckled. He couldn’t decide if that was _so MJ_ or if that was uncharacteristic of her. He shrugged it off for now, and he put his backpack down and pulled out his notes. 

“Maybe…” MJ quietly said. She was staring at the bathroom. She sorta hoped Peter was still asleep, but she also didn’t want to explain to Ned why there was an unconscious boy in her bathtub. She also sorta hoped that he was awake to help her create some story in case Ned did go in the bathroom.

Speaking of which…

“Be right back!” Ned walked exactly where she wanted him to avoid like the plague.

“No!” MJ didn’t mean to yell, but it got him to stop.

“Why can’t I go to the bathroom?” Ned questioned. He was slightly suspicious; it was unlike MJ to raise her voice or to let people see her look as anxious as she did in that moment.

“Because!” Internally, MJ was kicking herself in the gut.

“...Because?” 

“Because… then you’d know—”

“—Then you’d know she’s got a _boy_ over,” Peter interrupted, throwing open the bathroom door. “Though, I guess it wouldn’t matter, since she said she has a girlfriend…” he pondered.

“Peter!” MJ exclaimed. 

Something lit up in Ned’s head.

“Peter? Not like Peter Parker?”

Peter gave MJ a quizzical look. She shrugged back. Peter looked at Ned, and then something lit up in his mind too.

“The one and only. Ned Leeds, yeah?”

“Holy shit, man!” Ned was smiling ecstatically, and he grabbed Peter and pulled him into a hug. Peter winced, and Ned released him. “How long has it been?”

“Uh, like three years? I don’t know, since, like, eighth grade.” Peter’s wound was burning from the movement, and he felt like crying.

MJ, kind of confused, asked “What is happening? Ned? You know him?”

“Yeah! We were best friends most of school,” Ned informed her enthusiastically. 

“Of course,” MJ sighed. “You know Spider-Man.”

Peter flinched and Ned gave her a weird look. “I know Spider-Man?”

“Oh, come on. You don’t have to play dumb. I know that Peter’s Spider-Man.” She deadpanned. Peter groaned and sat on the floor, deflated. Ned turned to face the boy on the floor.

“ _You’re Spider-Man?_ ” Ned almost shouted. “Oh, my God, you’re actually Spider-Man; I’m actually meeting Spider-Man. My best friend and I know _Spider-Man_ ,” he said, much quieter this time.

“Fuck,” Peter whispered to himself. “Fuck.”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait,” MJ started, directing her attention to Ned. “You didn’t know he was Spider-Man?”

“No, I had no idea!” Ned told her.

“Fuck,” she said. She turned to Peter. “I’m so sorry.”

He waved his hand at her. “It’s whatever, I guess. I mean, Ned won’t rat me out, right?”

“Right.”

“Yeah, so it doesn’t matter that much. Anyway, MJ, I just wanted to ask you what you did with the bullet.”

“A _bullet?_ ” Ned yelled.

“Yeah, a bullet. MJ?”

“I… I don’t think I took out a bullet,” she admitted. 

Peter shot back up. “Wait, the bullet’s still in me?” He didn’t mean to raise his voice at her, but everything was so stressful at the moment. Well, everything was stressful in every moment, but this one was particularly stressful.

“I panicked! I’m not a medical professional; I forgot to try to get it out!” MJ cried. “Besides, what if I tried to reach in and get it with my tweezers and accidentally squeezed a vein or artery or something too much and it opened?! That could kill you!”

“So could a bullet moving it’s way through my body!”

Ned walked in between the two. “Alright, guys, I think it’s time to tone it down just a little. Wouldn’t want MJ’s neighbors calling the cops or her parents, now would we?”

“Oh shit, right,” Peter said. “How much time is there before your parents get home?”

MJ checked her watch. “About four,” she said.

“Great,” Peter, said. “Do you have any sewing stuff left?”

“Yeah, what for?”

“So I can fix the hole in my suit.”

“Yeah, give me a sec.” MJ left the room, and Ned stared at Peter. Peter looked at him for a second before realizing he was being stared at.

“What? Is there something wrong with my face?” Peter asked, rubbing his hand on his cheek.

“Aside from the bruise, no, not really,” Ned responded. “It’s just so weird, man. You dropped off the face of the earth, and then I find you a couple years later in my best friend’s bathroom. And apparently you got shot? And you’re Spider-Man, so you get shot at all the time, right?”

“Yeah.” Peter wouldn’t believe it either.

“Dude, your life is crazy.”

Peter chuckled.

“Here you go.” MJ handed Peter red thread. “To match the hole,” she explained.

“Thanks,” he gave her a small smile. She nodded in return.

MJ and Ned made their way to the kitchen table, and Peter went to the bathroom to change out of his suit before he sat himself on the living room floor. The pair worked on their project while Peter worked on his suit, and after a couple of minutes, MJ stood up. Peter and Ned looked up at her.

“Now that you’re awake, I should wash out the tub,” she said, before making her way over to do that. Once she left, Ned and Peter put their heads back down into their work and went silent. Peter snacked on the food that MJ had left out for him earlier, including a fresh glass of orange juice. Ned’s kutsinta was, regrettably, forgotten. After a couple more minutes, Peter finished with his suit. He left the sewing supplies on the kitchen table next to where the pair was working, and promptly left after telling Ned to thank MJ.

As he walked down the streets on his way to his home, he pondered what he was going to do about the bullet lodged in his side. He didn’t think he’d be able to take it out himself unless that was the last option. He didn’t know if he could go to a hospital. He’d probably have to.

For now though, Peter was going to spend the thirty dollars in his pocket on alcohol in the convenience store he just found. 

Or so he thought.

“Are you Peter Parker?” a man’s voice rang from behind him.

“Who wants to know?” Peter turned around to look at the man. He was holding some piece of paper in his hand. Once Peter looked at the man, the man glanced at his paper, then back at Peter before smiling.

“Oh, you most definitely are. I guess that means you’re Spider-Man, too, huh?”

“What? What are you talking about?” Peter was taken aback.

“Oh, I’m a big fan. Well, of Spider-Man, at least. I don’t know ‘Peter Parker’ so well, other than that you’re a thief.”

Peter glared at him. “Sir, all due respect, but I don’t know you, and you have absolutely no proof that I’ve stolen anything.”

The man smiled. “Oh, I absolutely do. I’m Director Coulson.”

“Director? You’re FBI?” Peter choked. _Fuck!_

“Nope. I’m part of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. You might know it as S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D.?” Peter paled. “I thought you guys went down when you turned out to be Hydra.” 

“Oh, we did, but don’t play dumb, Peter. I know you recognize us.” Coulson put his arm on Peter’s shoulder and led him into an alley. Peter did not like this.

“Sir, I do not.”

“Well then, let me help you remember. You webbed up me and my agents before stealing out of our quinjet. Then, you left us up on the wall—except Fitz, who you left on the floor, much to his dismay—for two hours until the webbing dissolved. FitzSimmons were also disappointed about that.”

“Wait, you said Fitz, now you’re saying FitzSimmons? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Kid, I really don’t want to explain everything to you right now. But there’s gonna be plenty of time.”

“Plenty of time? What do you mean plenty of time?”

“Well, obviously I’m bringing you in. We want to have a talk with you.”

“A talk? What are you going to talk to me that I can’t talk about now?”

“Listen, kid, you’re considered a hero. We’re just a little curious why. You know, what makes you able to lift multiple people up despite your tiny size. What makes you able to climb up walls despite having a cloth suit. And, this isn’t as important, but I also wanna know: why spiders?”

“Mr. Coulson, I would personally rather not talk to you or your agents. Also, how do you know my suit is cloth?”

“It’s hanging out your backpack.” Peter looked behind him and scrambled to hide it. “And I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist.” When Peter looked back up, Coulson was pointing a strange looking gun at him.

“Oh, so if I don’t come, you’ll shoot me?”

“Don’t worry, it won’t hurt. It’s just a super cool tranquilizer.” Coulson smiled proudly at it. “FitzSimmons came up with the I.C.E.R.”

“Come on, man, you can’t just kidnap me! I’m a kid!” 

“A kid who steals, works as a vigilante, is possibly violating the Sokovia Accords, and possibly kills,” Coulson elaborated.

“What? How would you know if I’ve killed anyone?” Peter took a step back. Coulson lowered his weapon slightly.

“Oh, we aren’t completely sure about that part, but your reaction to the accusation is very interesting. Now, are you coming with me or not?” The I.C.E.R. was level with Peter’s shoulder again.

Peter wished he had his webshooters on, but he supposed he’d have to make do. He reached over and slapped the gun out of Coulson’s hand, before punching him in the face and knocking him over. Peter regretted that the moment his side burst into extreme pain again.

“Damn,” he said. He looked up at the roof of the building. “May!” he shouted.

“May? Wha—?” A dull pain landed in his back, and he fell over.

Coulson looked at the now sleeping boy at his feet. “Geez, kid, you hit hard.”

After a couple moments or so, a woman appeared by his side. She chuckled.

“Nice job getting beat up by a, what, twelve-year-old?” She lightly and jokingly shoved his shoulder.

“Aw, come on, May. Let’s just get him in the jet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god if i have to write fitzsimmons being really smart i'm going to suffer.


	5. Seventeen, Nine Months, and Nineteen Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter meets the Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow look at me updating for the first time in 6 months
> 
> sorry it's taken so long, school was hectic while i was in school, and then quarantine made me lose motivation for writing this, then i got into a new show and tbh kinda forgot about this
> 
> hopefully my next update will be in less than 6 months 
> 
> also! for the shield agents, i'm most likely going to just do coulson, may, fitzsimmons, and daisy (as quake) because it's been awhile since i've watched aos so i don't remember who's alive/dead at this point, and i don't really remember their personalities. i also haven't seen the most recent season (they're in the past??) so the aos characters are gonna be different from canon

In all honesty, the Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. weren’t entirely sure what to do with the boy. The only grudge the group really had against him was stealing their materials, but that was over a year ago, and they hadn’t really lost much compared to everything they had. As for the suspicion that he was killing people, the only people they had evidence of him executing were the lowest of the low. Well, mostly. 

Besides, it wasn’t like _they_ had never killed anyone before.

For now, they stuck him in the Cage as they waited for him to wake up. FitzSimmons and Daisy watched him from the camera. FitzSimmons both thought he was interesting due to his (most likely—they hadn’t done any testing yet, but it seemed incredibly likely) altered genetics, and Daisy thought he was interesting because he could— _allegedly_ —beat up people three times his size.

Fitz checked his watch. Based on the newest I.C.E.R. model, the kid should wake up in “Three… Two... One…” Fitz pointed at the screen.

Lo and behold, the boy had awoken just as Fitz completed his gesture. He sat up on the mattress and they watched him rub his eyes.

“Coulson!” Simmons called. “He’s awake!”

Coulson walked over to the three of them and joined in on observing the boy. They watched him look around and, upon finding it at the foot end of the mattress, look through his backpack. His rifling became slightly more frantic until he seemingly gave up and laid back down on the mattress, looking dejected.

“I’m going to go talk to him,” Coulson said. He sighed. His crew watched him leave, and then, a moment later, enter the Cage with the boy. The kid sat up and stared as the door opened. “Hello, Peter,” they heard Coulson greet through the camera.

“Where am I?” Peter asked. He was backed up and slouching against the wall. Coulson sat on the ground across from him.

“Is this what you guys did when Coulson picked me up?” Daisy asked FitzSimmons.

“No,” Simmons said at the same time as Fitz said “Yes.”

Daisy chuckled and gave an unsurprised nod.

“You’re on a plane, though we call it the Bus,” Coulson informed Peter.

“Yeah? What do you call this room?” 

“The Cage.”

Peter nodded slowly. “So you kidnapped me and threw me in a cage? Not very warm and friendly.” His voice was slightly defiant and wholly sarcastic.

Coulson laughed. “Yeah, warm and friendly isn’t really what we pride ourselves on.”

“I imagine it isn’t thievery either, is it? ‘Cause you guys seem to be pretty good at that.” The boy gestured at his backpack. All he had found in it was his money, his learner’s permit, his fake I.D., and his snacks and drinks. “Where are they?”

“Safe,” Coulson told him. “Same as you. We put them somewhere as a precaution.”

“Why?” Peter knew why.

“Well, I know first hand what you can do to a person _without_ them. I wouldn’t like to be at the receiving end of your anger _with_ them. Besides, I’m sure FitzSimmons would love to know how you use them.”

Sure enough, in the other room, Fitz was playing with one of the webshooters. “Whoa!” he exclaimed as he accidentally shot a web at Simmons. Daisy laughed, and Simmons glared. Fitz’s face was covered in fear and surprise as he slowly put the webshooter down.

Peter sighed.

“Wait,” he sat up and gasped quietly at the pain in his side. “Where’s May?”

“What?” Coulson gave the kid a confused look. In the other room, FitzSimmons and Daisy looked at each other too.

“Right before you shot me—”

“Let’s call it tranquilizing,” Coulson interrupted.

“—you called out to May. Where is she?”

“Why do you want to know where May is?”

“Oh, so the big bad agency knows I’m Peter Parker and Spider-Man, but the big bad agency doesn’t know about my aunt? Amateurs.” Peter scoffed.

“What—?”

“Bring me to her,” Peter demanded.

“You’re not leaving this room.”

“Fine,” he scoffed. “Then bring her to me.”

“She’s flying the plane,” Coulson said.

“Yeah, cause a giant, expensive, fancy plane like this doesn’t have autopilot.”

Coulson sighed.

“Fine,” he relented. Peter watched the man look up in the corner and say “Can one of you go get May?” 

Daisy put her finger on her nose, followed by Simmons.

“You go, Fitz.”

“Why do we even do nose-goes?” Fitz muttered as he walked away.

“‘Cause I’m the cool one here, so I get to make the fun group traditions,” Daisy called after him. Simmons giggled.

Peter and Coulson sat in silence. It was a couple moments before a woman entered the Cage. She didn’t sit.

“You needed me?” the woman asked Coulson.

“Yep,” he replied. “Peter, this is May.”

Peter furrowed his eyebrows. “That’s not May.”

The woman gave Coulson a look.

“This is May,” Coulson repeated. Peter stared as the faker gave him the slightest of smiles and the tiniest of waves.

“That isn’t May,” Peter insisted. Then, under his breath, “I should have known.”

“Should have known what?” The woman’s voice was hard. Not unkind, just hard.

“Not even S.H.I.E.L.D. could bring her back.”

“Your aunt?” The woman—their May—asked.

“Yes.”

“What happened?” This time it was Coulson.

“Someone hit her while she was crossing the street.” He looked down. “It’s stupid to have even thought there was a chance it was my May.”

“There’s nothing wrong with hoping,” Coulson told him. The boy’s head came back up.

Meanwhile, May sat down. Peter stared at her.

“You can call me Melinda,” she told him.

“Peter,” he replied. They gave each other a tiny smile.

In the other room, Daisy and FitzSimmons were moderately shocked.

“Did May just smile at him?” Fitz asked.

“And not just once, but _twice_?” Simmons added.

“I mean, she is a little soft for kids? I guess?” Daisy said.

“What about what happened in Bahrain?” Simmons asked. “She seemed very put off by kids because of that.”

“Well, this isn’t Bahrain,” Daisy reasoned. “This isn’t Katya, this is Peter Parker.”

“Still,” Fitz started.

“Weird,” Simmons finished.

The trio watched as Coulson and May told the boy they would bring him some food and then talk to him later. The boy nodded and said “okay.”

Coulson and May came up to the trio at the screen.

“What do kids like to eat?” he asked them slightly frantically.

When the Director came back into the Cage, he had chicken tenders and mashed potatoes on a plate, as well as a couple bottles of condiments (ketchup, mustard, honey mustard, and barbeque sauce). The boy was laying down on the mattress again, staring at the ceiling until he noticed Coulson. He watched the man place the plate on the floor next to the mattress and gave him a tight smile. Peter almost laughed when Coulson almost dropped the bottles, but Coulson didn’t, so Peter didn’t.

“We didn’t know what you like.”

“This is fine,” Peter said. It was a lot more than he would probably be able to eat. He sat up and winced again. Coulson noticed, but decided not to mention it for now. “Thanks.”

“Mmhm,” Coulson hummed. He walked towards the door.

“Hey,” Peter called when Coulson turned around. The boy had the honey mustard in his hands and was pouring some onto his plate. “Can I ask you some questions?”

“I suppose,” Coulson answered. He went back and sat in front of Peter again. The boy dipped a tender in the honey mustard and then in the mashed potatoes, and then he took a bite.

When he was done chewing, he asked “So, what exactly do you guys know about me?” He took another bite.

“Well, we know you’re Spider-Man. We know you’ve been buying alcohol—which is _illegal_ and very bad for you, y’know?” Peter scoffed. “We know you’re an orphan.” Peter frowned. “We know you’ve killed ten people.” Peter stopped chewing. “What else…? Oh, we know you ran away when you were sixteen. Oh! And we know that you stole from us at fifteen. Not cool, by the way.”

Peter was flabbergasted. When Coulson noticed the look on his face, he commented on it.

“What?” he asked. Peter held up a finger and finished chewing.

“How do you know I did all that?” Peter’s voice was disappointed? Coulson couldn’t quite tell.

“We’re S.H.I.E.L.D. It’s our job to know things.”

“I guess, but…” 

“...But?”

“Why does it seem like you’re more upset about me stealing from you than the fact that I’ve killed people?” Peter took the last bite of the chicken tender.

“It’s pretty hard to break into S.H.I.E.L.D. At least, I hope so,” Coulson pondered. “Besides, if I were to be mad over you killing people, it would be very hypocritical. A big part of my job is having to possibly kill people. I’ve even had to kill one of my own agents.”

“Why?” Peter asked.

“He was Hydra. And a dick,” Coulson answered. A pause, and then “Why did you do it?”

“It was accidental at first. They were bad people.”

Coulson was silent.

“Anything else?” Peter asked, grabbing the second and much smaller tender and dipping it in the sauce and potatoes again. He was able to eat half of it in one bite.

“Yeah,” Coulson started. “You really shouldn’t drink.”

Peter chuckled quietly. Coulson gave the boy a soft smile.

“Where are we even going?” Peter asked.

“We’re headed to meet the Avengers,” Coulson informed him.

“Aren’t we still in New York? It shouldn’t have taken this long.” Peter took the other bite. He wasn’t necessarily starting to feel full, but he was starting to feel like if he ate too much more, he’d throw up.

“Oh no, it definitely shouldn’t, but we wanted to be able to question you ourselves, so we’ve been flying around while we waited for you to wake up. We were almost in the Dakotas before you woke up, so now we’re on the way back.”

"Couldn't you have just parked somewhere?" Peter asked.

Coulson thought about it. "Sure, but this is more fun."

They wer both silent for a little bit. Peter ate another chicken tender.

“What do the Avengers want with me?” Peter asked, his voice tinged with nervousness.

“Don’t worry, they probably just want to recruit the so-called Spider-Menace.” Peter groaned at the nickname. “I agree, it’s not the most creative name that Jameson could have come up with.”

“So they’re not gonna do anything to me?” Peter asked.

“No, they’re a bunch of softies.” Coulson reassured him. Peter sighed in relief. “Or, at least they were when I last talked to them.” The relief was gone.

“When was that?”

Coulson thought about it for a moment.

“2012,” he responded.

Peter groaned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading and waiting so long! i hope this chapter was worth the wait!! :')


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